


Hell Can Wait

by Glassdarkly



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final, fatal battle in <i>Not Fade Away</i>, Angel and Spike find themselves not quite where they expected. Unless Hell's had a makeover, that is.</p><p>First posted to Rekindlespangel on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Can Wait

"This sofa's bloody uncomfortable. Cushions are like rocks."

To illustrate his point, Spike pulled a cushion out from behind his back and punched it a few times. Then he swore and shook his hand. 

"Ow! That bloody hurt."

His words were met by stony silence. With a snort of disgust, Spike slung the cushion back in place, put his boots on the low table in front of the couch and slumped down into it. A moment later, after more disconsolate squirming, he sat up again. 

"Angle's all wrong. Back's diggin' into me."

He glanced to his left, where the silence was loudest, and rolled his eyes.

"Cat got your tongue, has it?"

The silence developed a scratchy, irritable quality, but it stayed silent. Spike rolled his eyes again and let his gaze drift around the room - a dull, beige-painted cube, empty except for the couch. 

"Beige," Spike said, loudly. "I sodding well hate beige. Boring bloody colour."

When there was still no response, he flopped back into the beige cushions again and heaved a dramatic sigh. 

"Not as fucking boring as you are, though."

"Oh for…." Angel shot to his feet and began to pace. "Will you quit that?"

Spike didn't even try to repress his grin of triumph. "Quit what?"

Angel turned at the end of the beige carpet, which lapped the beige walls on all four sides. "That…that fidgeting. It's driving me crazy."

Spike sat up straight again. "Maybe that's the point? Maybe I'm _supposed_ to drive you crazy?"

Angel gave him a sour look. "In that case – good job."

"Thanks." Spike smirked, but after a moment's self-satisfied preening, the smirk faltered. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the wall behind the couch, where a double-leaved wooden door - huge, menacing, and firmly shut - interrupted the beige blankness of the wall, like a question mark on an otherwise empty page. 

"Wonder what _is_ through there?"

Angel paused in his pacing at the other end of the carpet. " Not sure I wanna know."

Spike faced front again and hunched lower in the couch. "Me neither."

Angel gave the door a challenging glare, as if daring it to do its worst. Then he came back to the couch and dropped down heavily into it, legs spread wide, claiming ownership. His knee nudged against Spike's thigh and Spike edged away. 

"Leave a bloke _some_ room," he muttered. "Just 'cos my arse isn't fucking enormous, like yours."

Angel ignored him. Instead, he spread his arms along the couch back, taking up even more space.

"This isn't like the last time I was here," he said.

"It isn't?" Spike had washed up at the far end of the couch. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

Angel considered. "Mostly good, I guess."

"Doesn't seem like the place Pavayne tried to shove me into either," Spike offered.

"Really?" Angel turned to face him. 

Spike nodded. "Yeah, that was more of an eternal torment, barbed wire in the eyeballs kind of place."

"Ah." Angel grimaced. "Sounds familiar."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Spike said, 

"Could be worse then, I s'pose. 'Least no one's tryin' to stick red hot pokers up our arses."

"Yet," Angel muttered. He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "But there could be anything through there. Fire and brimstone, devils with pitchforks, souls screaming in endless torment, or…or.."

"Or," Spike said, "We could find ourselves working in a call centre, or standing in a queue at the DMV, or watching Fox News. Forever."

Angel had gone pale. "That's…that's just horrible."

Spike looked a little pale too. "Yeah, wish my brain hadn't gone there." 

They both slumped, facing forward. 

"Dunno about you, but it's the uncertainty that gets me," Spike said, at last. "We just don't know what's on the other side." 

"True," Angel agreed. "Except that it's hell."

*

"I'm bored," Spike announced. "Aren't you bored?" He'd taken off his leather duster and thrown it over the couch back.

Angel grunted. 

"We could play I-spy," Spike said, when there was no further response. "I'll start. I spy with my little eye something beginning with…" He glanced around the room. "B." 

Angel rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Beige walls, maybe? Beige carpet? Beige couch?" He gave Spike a withering look. "Or blithering idiot sitting next to me?" 

Spike smirked at him. "No need to insult a bloke."

"Says the guy who can't open his mouth without insulting someone. Usually me."

Spike's smirk assumed Cheshire Cat proportions. "But you're just such an easy target, mate. And a big one. Did I mention lately how big?"

"Guess you believe that nonsense about the best method of defence being attack, huh?"Angel said, in a withering tone, to match his expression. "It really isn't. Everyone knows you're just covering."

Spike's smirk wavered. "Dunno what you're talking about. Not coverin' anything."

"Yes, you are," Angel insisted. "You throw insults at me to cover the fact that you know I'm better than you – in every way. Because you just can't face it, that's all."

There was a short, hostile silence. Then, Spike said, "So, you think you're better than me?"

"I do," Angel said, firmly.

Spike tilted his head and opened his eyes innocently wide. "Why're we both in hell, then?"

Angel opened his mouth, frowned. Closed it again. "Good point."

Spike nodded, satisfied. " _I_ thought so."

Angel held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Maybe I'm not better than you in _ever_ y way- better looking, sure, but..."

"Hey!" Spike growled

"But I'm not as good at being annoying as you are," Angel went on, "and no way I'm backing down this time."

"No," Spike admitted, after another silence. "That's fair."

"Well, good." Angel faced forward and folded his arms. After a while, Angel said, "I spy with my little eye……"

*

"Five hundred and ten, five hundred and eleven…"

"How long are you gonna keep that up?" Angel sighed. 

Spike did another press-up. "Five hundred and twelve."

"I mean, I thought I was bored before…." 

"Shut up. Five hundred and thirteen."

"….but I am so tired of the sight of your skinny ass bobbing up and down. Plus, you're sweating like a pig. The room stinks."

"Five hundred and seventeen. Or was it sixteen? Fuck!" Spike hit the floor with a thump. "I'll have to start again now, you pillock. One. " He raised and lowered himself. "Two."

Behind his back, Angel was smirking.

*

Spike shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. He balanced the heel of his left boot on the toe of his right, then the heel of his right boot on the toe of his left.

"God, I'm bored."

"I've lost count of how many times you've said that," Angel muttered. "Okay, I get it. You're bored."

Spike rounded on him. "Like you're any help. Whenever I suggest anything we could do to pass the time, you just shoot me down in flames."

Angel sneered. "That's cuz all your ideas are stupid."

Spike glared. "'Least my ideas won't get us killed and sent to hell, and you know why not? Because yours already did. Berk."

Angel opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it. "Okay, _okay_."

Spike slumped into the couch again. "And you know what else I am as well as bored?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry," Spike said. "So hungry, in fact, that even you're startin' to look right tasty. Er...." He blinked, while Angel smirked. "All right, forget I said that. I'm still hungry. In fact, I'm bloody starving. Wish I had a nice, warm glass of blood. Hey, what's that?"

There was a shimmering in the air above the low table. Spike's mouth dropped open.

"Will you look at _that_?"

Angel licked his lips. "I'm looking. I'm looking."

*

Spike held the glass of blood up to the light. The contents were a deep, velvety crimson. "Smells fucking amazing."

Angel eyed the glass suspiciously. "You shouldn't drink it. It might be poisoned."

Spike paused with the glass half way to his lips. "We're already dead, aren't we? What'd be the point of that?"

Angel shrugged. "I don't know, but in my experience, you don't get what you want in hell. Not unless it's a trap."

"Fair enough," Spike said. He made to put the glass down, but then reversed the motion and drained the contents in one. Angel watched Spike's Adam's apple jerking. His mouth dropped open. 

"Do you even _have_ a gag reflex?"

Spike put the glass down on the table, wiped his mouth with his arm and belched appreciatively. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

Angel looked uncomfortable. "Never mind that. How do you feel?"

Spike tilted his head, considering. "Fine." He raised an eyebrow at Angel's expression. "Fuckssake, Angel. It's just blood. Nice, fresh human blood, heated to just the right temperature. All warm and thick and delicious."

Angel licked his lips again. After a moment, he said, "I want some."

The air shimmered for a second time. A full glass of blood, steaming gently, appeared on the table next to Spike's empty one.

"That's..."Angel stared, as if hypnotised. "That's weird. Don't you think that's weird?"

"Fucking brilliant, more like." Spike bounced on the couch. "Telly," he said loudly, to the room at large. "State of the art, mind. And an XBox. Or a PS3. Not fussy. And games, the faster and louder the better."

They both gazed expectantly at the blank wall in front of them. Then Spike's face split into a huge grin. "For hell, this is a bit of all right." He pointed the remote at the screen.

*

"Bollocks!" Spike let the remote drop to the floor. "Might've known it was too good to be true."

They both gazed blank-eyed at the static. Every channel was the same. 

At last, Angel shook himself and said, "Maybe it's the reception. Hell's an awful long way down."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Doesn't explain why the games console doesn't work either."

"Maybe it's faulty," Angel said. "You could ask for another one."

Spike slumped back into the couch. "No point. You were right. This is hell. They're just torturin' us with what we can't have."

Angel frowned. "The blood's real, though."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "Funny, that."

He picked up his empty glass. "More," he said, loudly. "More," he said again, when the glass stayed stubbornly empty. 

Suddenly, there was a discreet clinking noise behind them. They both turned to look at a small table that had appeared in the corner, on which stood a silver tray and an empty jug. As they watched, the jug began to fill up again as if an invisible hand were renewing its contents. The scent of perfectly heated human blood filled the room. 

Spike stood up, empty glass in hand. "Oka-ay. Dunno why they put it over there. Maybe they don't want us to get lazy."

"Here," Angel held out his glass. "Pour me another one too."

Spike glared at him. "Not your bloody servant." But he took the glass and refilled both of them.

"Thanks," Angel held out his hand for the glass. 

"Oops!"

*

Spike watched Angel dabbing at the blood on his shirt, as if it were nothing to do with him. "It'll come off in the wash."

"You did that on purpose!" Angel growled.

Spike put his hand on his heart. "As if I'd ever do such a thing. You wound me, Angel. You wound me."

"Yeah right," Angel muttered. He put his glass down on the floor and stripped off his wet shirt. 

"I need a clean shirt," he said, loudly and clearly, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing . There was a sort of whooshing noise behind them, but neither of them looked around this time. Angel had bent to pick up his glass and Spike was staring at Angel's bare torso. The tattoo on Angel's back rippled as he raised his arm.

"Huh," Spike said. He took a couple of sips out of his own glass. Then he said, in a falsely bright tone, "I'm bored again. Aren't you bored?"

Angel gave him a suspicious look. "Well – yeah. I'm beginning to think that's the whole point. Not the sort of hell I was expecting, but still…. "

Their eyes met, and as one they looked over their shoulders at the door again, shuddered and turned away from it.

"True." Spike looked thoughtful. "So, since the telly and the games console are a bust, better think of something else to do."

Angel eyed the featureless room in disgust. "Good luck with that."

"Already have," Spike said. "We could have sex."

Angel's jaw dropped. His glass fell from his hand. Blood spattered everywhere. 

"That'll leave a nasty stain," Spike said. 

"Carpet," Angel said, to no one in particular. Neither of them looked to see if the carpet cleaned itself. "Did you just say what I thought you said?"

Spike was looking at Angel's bare chest again. He licked blood off his upper lip. "I might have done."

Angel lunged forward suddenly, grabbed Spike's shoulders and kissed him. This took some time. When Angel finally came up for air, he said, to the room in general, "Lube."

At once, another tray appeared on the table next to the couch. On it was a large white squeezy bottle of something called Boy Butter, a pair of heavy duty padded handcuffs, a wooden paddle and a long black feather. 

Angel picked up the handcuffs. "Oh boy. Ooo-oh, boy."

"Now wait just a fucking minute…" Spike spluttered. But at that moment, the couch metamorphosed into a king size bed and he went sprawling backwards with Angel on top of him. 

"Shut up," Angel kissed him again. 

Spike shut up. Or at least, he stopped talking.

*

"You haven't lost your touch," Spike said.

Angel looked smug. "I know."

"I'm bloody sore, though," Spike whined. "All for a good paddlin' now an' again, but did you have to hit so hard?"

"Sorry," Angel said, not sounding sorry at all. "Weirdly, I found the target irresistible."

"Wanker." Spike pouted, but he sounded pleased all the same. 

Angel cleared his throat. "So," he said, in a conversational tone, "you ready for round two yet?"

Spike sat up with a jerk, yelped as his backside came in contact with the mattress, and lay down again on his side, head propped on his elbow. "Depends."

Angel looked wary suddenly. "Depends on what?"

Spike's fingers spider walked up the centre of Angel's chest. "Your turn to play catcher."

Angel shook his head vehemently. "I don't think so. This may be hell but I'm still your grandsire. There are rules, you know."

"Yeah?" Spike sounded amused. "That's a pity. Remember what you said earlier, about me not having a gag reflex? You still interested in testing that out?"

There was silence. Angel stared at him. "Might be," he said, at last. 

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess you know what you have to do, then?"

More silence. Then Angel said, "Guess I do, at that."

*

"I still think it's a trap," Angel said.

Spike had been licking trails of blood off Angel's belly. He looked up, lips all smeary and red. "What're you on about?"

Angel rolled his eyes and indicated the assortment of well-used sex toys on the table, the jug with the miraculous re-filling blood supply, the once more spotless beige carpet. "I mean, all this. Everything we ask for, we get. Do you think they're trying to soften us up?"

Spike looked puzzled. "What for?" 

Angel glanced towards the door in the wall, and shuddered. "For when they take it all away."

Spike considered this. "Doesn't explain why the sodding telly won't work." 

"Maybe that's just a warning?" Angel said, darkly. 

"S'pose." Spike didn't sound convinced. He went back to swirling blood over Angel's bare chest with his tongue. 

Angel squirmed. "So you don't think it's a trap to lull us into a false sense of security?" 

Spike stopped licking and looked up again. "If it is, it's a rubbish one. First they stick us in here together, even though we hate each other. Then they give us anything we ask for, but only…" He sat up suddenly. "Bloody hell!"

"What?" Angel sat up too. "What is it?"

"Oh, I get it," Spike said. " _I_ get it."

"What?" Angel said, irritably. "What do you get? Tell me."

Spike gave him an are-you-stupid look. "S'obvious innit? They give us whatever we want, but only the things that don't distract us for too long. I mean there's only so much sex you can have, isn't there?"

Angel had been staring at the rather lurid handprints on Spike's butt cheeks. He dragged his gaze away with difficulty. 

"I don't know about that."

Spike thumped him hard on the shoulder. "Drag your mind out of the gutter."

Angel blinked, then frowned. "That's rich coming from you."

"I'm serious, you pillock," Spike growled. "They don't mind us talking, sex is okay, but they don't want us doing anything that'll really take our minds off...things."

"What things?" Angel said. Then he said, "Oh, I get you. You mean, like whether we stay here arguing for eternity or whether we go through that door and face the music?"

"At last!" Spike muttered. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean."

Angel frowned. "Are you saying that playing on that Xbox thing would take your mind off us being in hell better than having sex with me?"

Spike gave him an incredulous look. "What, your feelings are hurt?" His voice rose to a sneering falsetto. "Why, Angel. I didn't know you cared."

"Shut up," Angel growled. He lay down again, pillowing his head on his folded arms. After a moment, he said, "You do get very involved in those games, it's true. Remember that time I called you to come and help kill those G'narr demons and your cellphone was switched off? Fred told me what you'd been doing."

They both looked sad at the mention of Fred's name. Then Spike said, "Yeah well, if I'd stopped playing then, I would've lost all the Wumpa fruit I'd managed to collect and had to start again, wouldn't I?"

"Wumpa fruit? That's just…." Angel shook his head. "I'll never get the attraction. Give me a good book any day." 

He sat up again suddenly. "Of course! That's how we test your theory." To the room at large, he said, " _A la recherche du temps perdu_ , all seven volumes." 

"Proust?" Spike sneered. "Fucking _Proust_ would distract you from being in hell? You're kidding, right?"

Angel glared at him. "Hey, he was a nice guy. Kind of sickly, but...ah, forget it."

They both stared around the room, but no books appeared. 

"See," Spike said, at last. "They don't want you forgetting your situation by getting lost in a good book. Or a bloody boring book, in this case."

"Huh." Angel lay down again. "Guess you're right. What do you think it means?"

Spike lay down next to him. "My guess is, they don't want us getting too comfortable. They don't want us to start actually _liking_ it here. They want us to make a decision."

As one, they turned onto their right sides and stared at the door. After a moment, Angel said, "It looks bigger. Don't you think it looks bigger?"

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "I do." Their eyes met. As one, they rolled over onto their backs again. 

Then Angel said, "So the choices are, we stay here forever with no other distractions, just each other for company, or we go through that door."

"Seems to be." Spike shrugged. "Not much of a choice really, is it? Not gonna spend eternity stuck in here with you. Talk about hell bein' other people."

Angel pushed him so hard he rolled off the bed, to land on the floor with a thump. "Likewise."

Spike clambered to his feet. "That bloody hurt."

"Good," Angel said. 

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Right," he said. "Right." He began to put his clothes back on. "Not stayin' here to be treated like this."

Angel sat up. "Where are you going?"

"Where d'you bloody think?" Spike marched towards the door with a determined expression on his face, only to be tackled from behind and brought to the ground by Angel. 

"Wait," Angel said. "Just wait. We should talk about it first – weigh up the options properly." 

Spike spat pieces of beige carpet out of his mouth. "Thought we just did that?"

"Uh-uh." Angel shook his head. "That doesn't count, because we didn't know what was really going on then. There's no sense going off half-cocked." 

Spike looked back at him over his shoulder. "Sort of my M.O., mate. Blech!" He spat out more bits of carpet. "Beige tastes fucking horrible too."

There was an oddly peaceful silence. Angel continued to lie on top of Spike. After a while, his hips began to make gentle thrusting motions. After a while longer, Spike began to push back against Angel. 

"Also," Spike said, eventually, "know how I said there was only so much sex you could have?"

"Yeah?" Angel ground down again.

"I don't think I've had it all yet."

*

Spike knotted the laces in his docs and sat up. "That it, then?"

Angel was buttoning his shirt. "I think so. For now anyway."

Spike turned to stare at him, one arm half way into a duster sleeve. "Bloody hell, mate. You're insatiable." He shrugged his way into the other sleeve.

Angel hunched his shoulders, looking embarrassed. "Well, I did stay celibate for almost a hundred years. Still have a lot of catching up to do. Hey!" 

They both stared, as the bed turned back into a couch and the tray with its well-used contents - the bottle of Boy Butter was almost empty - disappeared. 

They looked at each other. "Hope they don't take the blood as well," Spike whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Angel nodded. "Me too. At least, not until we're ready."

They looked at the door again. "We should at least discuss it," Spike said, at last. "What we're gonna do, I mean."

"Absolutely," Angel agreed. "We should. Starting now."

They looked at each other, looked at the door again, then sat down, with the door once more at their backs. 

There was silence. After a while, Angel cleared his throat. Spike turned to face him, but Angel shook his head. "Frog in my throat."

"Oh. Right." Spike faced front again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Then he sat back. Then he leaned forward again. Angel was twiddling his thumbs. Round and round, round and round.

After a while, Spike sat up. He turned to Angel and opened his mouth. Angel stopped twiddling and sat up expectantly. But then Spike slumped. "Nah."

"What?" Angel demanded. "What?"

But Spike shook his head. "It's nothing."

More silence. Then Angel said, "This is dumb, even for us. We can't stay here forever. We have to talk about it."

Spike looked sheepish. "Yeah, it is dumb." He brightened. "Maybe if we lead up to it slowly? Talk about other stuff first?"

Angel beamed. "Great idea. You start."

Spike's lower lip pouted slightly. "Why do I...? Oh, forget it." He frowned, tilted his head. Then he sat bolt upright. "Bloody hell! Wonder what happened to Charlie?"

*

Angel had his head in his hands. He looked stricken. "I can't believe I just forgot about Gunn."

Spike grimaced. "Me neither. Do you think he made it?"

Angel shook his head. "Doubt it. He'd lost too much blood."

Spike's mouth turned down at the corners. "He _was_ in a pretty bad way. Still, him not being here with us is a good sign. Probably gone to a better place."

"Yeah, probably." Angel agreed. But then he frowned. "Unless this hell is just for vampires."

Spike gave a derisive snort. "That makes bugger all sense. Why would there be a hell just for vampires? Most vampires'd think hell was a fun time for everyone. Like Butlins for the evil undead."

Angel blinked. "What's Butlins? But that's not what I meant. Most vampires don't go to hell. Dust them and they stop existing. That's what Darla told me."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Like _she's_ a reliable source. Bloody woman's come back from the dead three times."

"That doesn't change the fact that this hell might be just for souled vampires," Angel insisted, "and Gunn could be in a different one." 

Spike stared at him. His mouth dropped open. For a moment, he seemed lost for words, but then he burst out,

"You have got a fucking nerve. You really have."

Angel blinked. "What're you talking about?"

Spike sprang to his feet in a whirl of black leather and stood over him, almost dancing with fury. "What I'm talking about is your inflated sense of entitlement. You are so up your own arse, you're tied in a fucking knot. You have the..the _gall_ to think you rate your own personal hell dimension. Words fail me, Angelus. They really do." 

"As if." But Angel looked uncomfortable. "It's not just for me. You're here too."

Spike sneered. "But we both know I'm just a tagalong, don't we? You're the one with the 'destiny'-he made sarcasm-laced air-quotes around the word –"you're the one with his own personal prophecy about how he gets to turn human one day."

"It's not my prophecy anymore," Angel protested. "I signed it away, remember?"

"Oh I remember," Spike growled. "Did a lot of signin' that day, didn't you? Signed up to get us all killed too." He got right into Angel's face. "Percy's dead 'cos of you. Charlie too, most likely, and don't you dare – don't you _dare_ – even think that he might be in hell. He's not. Okay? _Okay_?"

Angel stared at Spike's indignant face. "Yeah," he said. "You're right."

"'Course I am," Spike growled. Then he blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said, you're right," Angel said, in a patient tone. "Guess I really messed up this time, huh?"

Spike looked taken aback. "Yeah, well…" He backed off a bit. "This isn't a fake-out, is it? You're really admitting I'm right?"

Angel nodded. "Believe it or not, yes. I don't deserve special treatment, I get that. Neither of us do. And Gunn was a good guy. He's not in hell."

"Well, good," Spike looked a little deflated. "Glad we got that sorted."

Angel's gaze had gone unfocussed.

"It was a good fight, though." 

"Bloody right it was." Spike sat down again next to Angel. "Did you see me behead that Chirago demon? One stroke was all it took– one stroke."

Angel clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, I saw it. Impressive. And what about me killing that dragon? That was something, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah." Spike bounced in his seat, grinning. "Till you went up in flames anyway."

Angel's own smile faltered. "That hurt actually."

" _Tell_ me about it," Spike said. "'Course, just after that, someone staked me from behind."

"I noticed that," Angel said. "About the last thing I did notice."

They subsided into gloom. There was a long silence. Then Spike said, "Wonder what happened to Illyria?"

"If anyone survived it was her," Angel said. "I hope so. I asked her to keep an eye on Connor."

"Connor?" Spike frowned. "Who the hell is Connor?"

"My son, of course," Angel said. Then, "Oops."

There was another silence, shorter this time. Then Spike said, "You have a _son_?"

*

"You're sulking."

Spike didn't look around, just went right on scowling at the beige wall in front of him.

"In fact," Angel said. "You’re practically pouting."

Spike shrugged, but he still didn't speak, or even look around.

Silence fell, and stayed fallen. Nothing happened for a very long time. Angel checked his watch. "It's been an hour. Never known you be quiet this long. Unless you were gagged."

No reaction beyond another shrug.

More time dragged. More stuff continued to not happen. 

At last, Angel said, "I'm sorry, okay? If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one who didn't know about Connor. Wolfram & Hart wiped him from the others' memories when I agreed to sign a contract."

Spike did react to this, but only to give Angel a disgusted, I-might-have known-it kind of look. Then he went back to staring at the wall. 

"I know it sounds bad," Angel said. "But I had to do it. Connor was crazy, okay? He was going to kill himself along with a whole bunch of innocent people. I tried to reason with him, but…" His voice cracked. He put up a hand to cover his face. 

Spike frowned, but he went on staring at the wall. After a moment, Angel sniffed loudly. "Oh God," he said, in a muffled voice.

Spike looked at him, looked at the wall, looked back at him. Scowled. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Spike muttered. Unfolding his tightly folded arms, he patted Angel awkwardly on the shoulder. "There, there."

Angel let his hand drop away from his grinning face.

"Made you talk."

Spike snatched his hand back. "Sod off." He refolded his arms and went back to staring at the wall. 

"Spike, come on," Angel pleaded. "What I'm saying is, it wasn't just you. No one knew about Connor. You weren't singled out for special treatment." 

Spike's face only grew even more thunderous. Angel frowned. 

"What does it take to get through to you? I'm the one who'll never get to see his son again, damnit. All I'm trying to say is, the fact that you didn't know about Connor is no big deal, all right?"

Spike whirled to face him. "No big deal? No. Big. Deal? You bastard. You complete and utter wanker."

Angel shrank back a little. "Uh-what?"

"What is it about you?" Spike was practically shouting now. "Can't be your shining morals, given what a fuck up you are. Can't be your bloody stupid hair. And yet the Powers That Wank With Us keep throwing bones at you." 

He adopted a whiny sing-song voice. "Now which vampire with a soul shall we give this nice, shiny prophecy that promises he'll become human one day to? Shall we give it to the poor fucker who fought to get his soul back of his own free will? Nah, we'll give it to the one we had to curse. Oh, and there's this one-time chance for a vampire to be a dad. Who'll we give the magic, baby-making dick to? How about the one who had to pull himself up by his own bootstraps? Nah, we'll just give it to the one who had everything handed to him on a plate. Sod you, Angelus."

"Oo-oh, I get it," Angel said. "You're just jealous, cuz my cold, dead seed turned out to be not so dead."

"Bollocks," Spike growled, but Angel was smirking at him.

"What can I say, William? Some of us just don't have what it takes."

"Bastard," Spike said again, but with less heat.

"Who's the mum?" he asked, after a pause.

"Believe it or not," Angel said. "It's Darla."

Spike breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck for that. Thought you were gonna say Buffy."

*

Angel looked at his watch again. An hour had gone by and Spike hadn't stopped talking once.

"What is it about you and women anyway?" Spike was saying. "It's not like you're nice to 'em. You and Darla fought all the sodding time. It was all, you're a useless great Irish lump this, you're a filthy English whore that."

"I was evil back then," Angel protested. "Of course we fought. And hey, it's not like you and Dru never did."

Spike glared at him. "If we did, it was only because of you. You messed her up big time. First you drove her mad, then you killed her. _Then_ you encouraged all her worst habits, like her daddy fixation. Wasn't healthy, not even for vampires."

"Oh for…" Angel huffed in exasperation. "Like I said, I was evil."

"Never could understand what she saw in you," Spike gritted. "Seems the worse you treated her, the more she wanted you."

"Evil," Angel reminded him. "It was just a game, okay? I liked messing with people's heads. When I was evil."

Spike wasn't listening. "Bloody exhausting, it was, tryin' to live down to your standards all the time. Nearly killed me. An' if Dru wasn't bad enough, then you go an' do the exact same thing to Buffy."

Angel sat up straight. "What? No I didn't."

Spike raised a cynical eyebrow. "Yeah, right. So poppin' her cherry and tellin' her you loved her, then treatin' her like trash the morning after wasn't messin' with her head. Right."

Angel glared. "I couldn't help it. I was evil then too."

Spike gave him a disgusted look. "That your sodding excuse for everything, is it? The evil made me do it?"

"Of course it damn well is," Angel almost shouted. "It's not like I could love her without a soul, is it?" 

Spike just stared at him. "Yeah, right."

"Oh, I see, I see," Angel said. "You're gonna say you loved her when you were soulless, even though I have it on good authority that it was sick, soulless love and you were trying to drag her down into the dark with you?"

Spike looked uncomfortable. "Thought it was what she wanted."

"What you wanted, more like," Angel said. "She was depressed. You took advantage."

"'Least I _tried_ to help her," Spike shot back, "even if I did fuck it all up. What did you do for her? Sod all, that's what."

It was Angel's turn to look uncomfortable. "I offered my help. She turned me down." 

"And you just accepted that?" Spike sneered. "Said yourself she was depressed. Half the time, she didn't know what she was doing."

"Got _that_ right," Angel muttered, "since she ended up in bed with you."

They glared at each other. At last, Spike said, "My point is, I don't get what any of them saw in you, 'cos you treated 'em like crap."

"And you didn't?" Angel countered.

"Not on purpose," Spike insisted. "'Course'" he added, as if it were a vast concession, "bein' evil myself a lot of the time, I know I fucked it up – bloody hell, I did. But the point is, I never meant to. Was evil, like you said."

"Guess we're quits, then," Angel said. 

Spike opened his mouth to speak again, but then he kind of deflated. "S'pose."

There was a slightly less hostile silence. Then Angel said, "So maybe the reason why they all preferred me is because of my magic, baby-making dick."

Spike gave him a withering look. "Tosser." 

More silence. Then Angel said, "Have we covered everything now?"

Spike thought for a moment. "Could be."

They both swivelled in the couch to look at the door in the wall behind them again. Then they looked at each other. 

Angel said, "I'm sure you can think of something else."

Spike opened his mouth, shut it again. Frowned. "Cavemen vs astronauts?"

*

"Ouch!" Angel dropped his end of the couch to the floor with an almighty thump. "That was my foot, you idiot!"

Spike pouted at him. "Bloody thing's way heavier than it looks."

"So you had to drop it on my _foot_?"

Angel limped around to the front of the couch and dropped down into it. After a moment, Spike joined him. Their knees touched, but neither of them moved away this time. They stared at the door, which was now right in front of them. 

"Huh!" Angel tilted his head on one side. "It's shrunk." He turned to Spike. "Don't you think it's shrunk? It looked way bigger when it was behind us."

"Think you're right," Spike said. "How about that?"

*

"It's not that I'm scared exactly," Angel said. "It's just that I've spent time in hell before, and it's no picnic." He grimaced. "Okay, maybe I am scared."

Spike glanced sidelong at him. "Me too."

"I mean," Angel said, "I _could_ say that after the first one hundred years you kind of get used to all the pain and suffering. But I won't."

"Why not?" Spike asked. 

Angel grimaced. "Because it would be a lie."

"Oh." 

They stared at each other, frowned, and faced front again. The door loomed at them.

Angel cleared his throat. "I wonder why they put us in here together in the first place? What was the point of it?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe they wanted to see which of us would break first."

"Maybe," Angel agreed. He glanced sidelong at Spike. "Guess we showed them, huh?"

"Guess we did." Spike sounded pleased. "'Stead of breaking, we've got along okay. Well, okay-ish." 

There was another silence. They both stared at the door in front of them. Then, Spike said, almost as an afterthought, "I still hate you, though."

Angel bristled slightly. "Likewise."

After a moment, Spike added, "But you're bloody brilliant at dicking."

"You're not bad yourself," Angel said. Then, when Spike turned to stare at him incredulously, "Damn, did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah, you did." Spike smirked. "Thanks."

Angel looked embarrassed. "Don't mention it. No, really. Don't." 

There was yet another silence. Then Angel said, through what sounded like gritted teeth, "That no gag-reflex thing _is_ pretty impressive, though."

"Thanks," Spike said, again. He raised an arch eyebrow. "Are we actually getting along?"

"No way!" Angel said, hurriedly. "Still…" His voice petered out. "Oh, right," he said.

"Still what?" Spike asked. "And what d'you mean, oh right?"

Angel waved him to silence. "Hey, you had your revelation. Now I've had mine. Shut up and let me think about it."

Spike huffed through his nose, but he didn't argue. "Knock yourself out, mate."

Time passed. Spike examined a stain on his duster hem, frowned, and rubbed at it with his sleeve. When it didn't come off, he rubbed harder. Then he began to sing, half under his breath at first, but gradually louder and louder, until he was practically bellowing.

 _"So you got to let me kno-ow, should I stay or should I go-oo."_

Suddenly, Angel said, "Quit that racket and listen. Seems to me like someone went to a lot of trouble to get us to spend some quality time together, don't you think?"

Spike stopped singing. "Quality time?" he sneered. "Don't talk bollocks." 

"It all fits, though," Angel insisted. "We'd never spend such a long time together willingly, would we? Not even in hell."

Spike shook his head. "No, we wouldn't. But that doesn't explain what the bloody point of it all is, does it?"

Angel shrugged. "Maybe we needed to do this before we can move on?"

Spike blinked. "Do what? Have lots of sex?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot. At least, not just that. No, I mean, talk about our differences - resolve all our issues. And now we have." 

They both looked at the door suspiciously, then Spike gave Angel a disgusted look. 

"That sort of cloying, sentimental bollocks only happens in old movies. The kind with some annoying kid in it you wish you could go evil again just so you could off. And a puppy."

Angel shrugged again. "Maybe, but if I'm right…"

They looked at the door. Then Spike said, " _If_ you're right, it could mean what's through there might not be so bad after all."

They looked at each other, then back at the door. "But it has to be hell," Angel said. "Has to be."

Spike grimaced. "Yeah, I mean we have been evil. Very, very evil."

"Very evil," Angel agreed. "Especially me."

Spike elbowed him in the ribs. "There you go again, hogging all the credit."

They stared at each other. "Still," Spike said eventually, "Might be worth takin' a peek. Just in case."

"Oh, totally," Angel agreed. He stared at Spike and Spike stared back at him. Then Angel stood up. "I have this weird feeling we're done here."

Spike stood up too, though more slowly. "Me too." They both squared their shoulders and faced the door again. "We survived this. What's out there can't be that bad."

"No," Angel said. He held out his hand towards Spike.

Spike looked at it, as if he expected it to explode. "You _are_ jokin', aren't you?"

"'Course I am." Angel let his hand drop, looking embarrassed. 

Side by side, they advanced towards the door. 

Just before they reached it, Spike grabbed hold of Angel's hand. "Soddit."

He didn't let go as the door swung slowly open, and Angel didn't let go of him. 

"Huh," they said, in unison. Then they stepped forward. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: [Butlins](http://www.butlins.com/#) is a chain of rather naff British holiday camps.  
> I did not invent Boy Butter. It really exists. Honest.


End file.
